


Sherlollipops - LBD

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [175]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas AU, F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut, Yes THAT Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:44:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6668242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prequel to my crack!fic "Currently On Exhibition", at the urging of devilgrrl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - LBD

**Author's Note:**

  * For [devilgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilgrrl/gifts).



 

He hated parties, he hated being social, he hated Christmas, he even hated John’s current girlfriend. Well, perhaps ‘hate’ was too strong a word for Jennifer or Genevieve or whatever her name was: she was just...boring. Unmemorable. John was bound to dump her once the sex became predictable; he was more interested in the chase even if he wouldn’t admit it. Someday he’d find the right woman, one who could keep him on his toes, preferably one with some secrets in her past for Sherlock to discover that weren’t utterly predictable, but Jannis (Jane?) definitely wasn’t that woman.

Yet he was expected to be _nice_ to her, and to Mrs. Hudson (whom he admittedly didn’t hate, not in the least) and to whoever else John had invited. He didn’t do _nice_ , certainly not when a case had him so frustrated he could scream. Irene Adler was leading him a merry chase, and he was this close to just chucking her damned phone and its apparently unbreakable code out the window.

Instead he picked up his violin and began to play. He heard someone coming up the stairs – Gavin Lestrade, he recognized the Detective Inspector’s heavy tread – and closed his eyes, willing himself to get lost in the music. Mrs. Hudson cooed something about how much she loved his playing, Judith (Geraldine?) murmured some kind of agreement from where she was sat comfortably at John’s feet, Lestrade removed his coat and greeted everyone, and finally – finally! – the sounds faded into a low background noise barely discernible above the soft notes he was wringing from his beloved Strad.

Then the door opened again as a familiar voice called out a cheery greeting. Familiar, and entirely unexpected. Why had John had invited Molly Hooper of all people? She barely remembered his blogger’s name, hardly ever spoke to him...and then he turned around, saw Greg and John both goggling at her as she removed her coat, saw the little black dress she was wearing, deduced that the gift at the top of the bag she was carrying was for himself...

...and just like that, ten years of voluntary abstinence went the way of the dodo.

He didn’t even realize he was moving until he’d already set his violin carefully down on his chair, fished his mobile out of his pocket and chucked it over his shoulder with much less care, and came to a stop directly in front of Molly. Who was staring up at him with eyes made even larger with surprise and a hint of trepidation. As he opened his mouth to speak it occurred to him that she – and very likely everyone else in the room, not that they mattered at the moment – probably expected him to say something awful.

Nope, not this time. “Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper,” he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips across her cheek, very close to the corner of her red-painted lips. Then he took her hand in his and without another word, tugged her away from the sitting room. It was clear she had no idea where he was taking her, at least not until they’d entered his bedroom and he’d shut the door behind her.

Of course, he doubted she much cared where they were – he certainly didn’t! – once he pressed her up against that closed door, trapping her between it and his own body, and proceeded to kiss her much, much more thoroughly than he had in the other room. A great deal of tongue was involved, and touching of body parts she normally kept well-covered and inaccessible to either view or touch. He made sure to press certain body parts of his own against her, parts that were normally not only inaccessible but largely – forcibly – ignored by him. Putting his sexuality in an iron strongbox and locking it up had worked for most of the his adult life, but no longer.

And all because Molly decided to wear a little black dress and show him what he’d been missing.

“Is this what you really wanted when you asked me for coffee?” he asked, keeping his voice low and deep, fascinated to watch goosebumps erupt on her arms as he nibbled at her earlobe. “After watching me whip a corpse with a riding crop?”

“Oh, God yes,” Molly moaned, her hands creeping up to his shoulders, the tips of her fingers toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. “You could have bent me over an autopsy table right then and there, Sherlock, or dragged me into a storage cupboard, I was so wet for you I almost had to change my knickers!” The fingers pulling so delightfully on his hair suddenly turned into claws as she exclaimed, “You git! You pretended you thought I was offering to bring you coffee!”

“Hmm, well at the time, I wasn’t ready for any sort of non-professional relationship,” he pointed out, shuddering with pleasure at the scrape of her nails against his skin the sharp tug on his sensitive follicles. He mouthed her throat. “Now, however…”

“Mmm, now,” Molly agreed throatily, wrapping her left leg around his thighs. “Now is good, Sherlock.”

“Now is excellent,” he agreed, reaching around to undo the zip on her dress. He helped her out of it while she worked him free of his dress shirt and jacket. Then she slid her hands down to the waistband of his trousers, and he moaned and bit down on her bare shoulder to show his appreciation. The mark he sucked into her flesh was bound to remain for a few days, but since her normal work attire was best described as ‘conservative’ he knew it wouldn’t be an issue.

Of course, he could always MAKE it an issue; he moved his mouth up and began sucking hard at the tender flesh below her ear. Molly did nothing to stop him, instead tilting her head to the side to give him better access. “Want everyone to know that you’ve been well-fucked,” he whispered wetly against her ear. “Want everyone to know you and I had sex up against my bedroom door on Christmas Eve.”

She shimmied her hips, allowing her dress to fall to her ankles, then finished undoing his trousers, tugging them down along with his silky black boxers so they rested on his thighs. Her eyes seemed enormous in the dim light, and she wet her lips before saying, “Sherlock, I want everyone in that sitting room of yours to know that you’re fucking me up against this wall. Especially if this just a one-off…”

“Nope,” he said, popping the p before diving down to lick a wet stripe down her cleavage. “Not a one-off. You’ll most likely be sick of me before too long, Molly, begging off of sex and telling me you have headaches and are on your period four weeks out of the month…”

“Never,” she moaned as he slid her knickers down her hips and ran his knuckles over the seam of her exposed sex. She was so wet, so sensitive, that that sinfully gentle motion nearly brought her off. “You’ll be the one begging off, telling me I’m a nympho and complaining to John when you can’t walk straight…”

Their mouths met in another urgent kiss as Sherlock yanked her bra straps down. She reached back and fumbled the clasp off, eagerly shucking that last piece of clothing while Sherlock toed off his loafers and gave a small hop-skip to free himself from the puddle of clothing trapping his ankles. Once they were both completely naked they took a moment to appreciate the sight of each other’s body, but only a moment; once their eyes met again they exploded into action.

Their kisses were heated, incandescent; their bodies were slicked with sweat; their hearts were pounding, their breathing labored, their minds focused with laser-sharpness on only one thing: finding the quickest way to bring their bodies together.

Sherlock hoisted Molly up as she crossed her legs behind his back, her hands gripping his shoulders, unfettered cries of pleasure escaping her lips as he maneuvered them so that the tip of his cock was poised at her entrance. “Oh, God, yes!” she cried as he pushed his way inside her, taking his time only until he was fully seated and it was clear she was in no discomfort. “Fuck me, please,” she begged, and he began moving, thrusting hard, their every movement causing the door to bang noisily in its frame.

Nope, there was definitely no way for the rest of the partygoers to interpret those noises – along with Molly’s throaty cries and Sherlock’s grunts – as anything but what they were: pure passion, long suppressed and finally given free rein.

The next morning when he staggered out of bed to use the bathroom, Sherlock found a note taped to the bathroom door, which he duly shared with Molly.

_Glad you finally found your sex drive. Glad you and Molly are getting on well. Just a suggestion: soundproofing is a thing you might consider investing in. There’s only so much earplugs can block. Trust me, we tried. - John_


End file.
